Reckless Burning
by SallyJetson
Summary: Sometimes danger comes from the strangest places and saviors materialize in the most unlikely people.
1. Chapter 1

**Reckless Burning**

* * *

The tiny flame always ignited the same.

"C'mere Pretty Thing."

And in those subsequent moments she wouldn't know who or why or what or where she was, only that the flame burned brighter and whiter until the sparks leapt from her fingertips and she flew to the skies where she would be accused again of …

Reckless Burning.

* * *

She awoke before the alarm, the heavy ripeness of her body deterring sound sleep. She sought one of the few comforts left to her, snuggling back into him, but anxiety threaded through her consciousness when she realized he wasn't there. Glancing at the clock and noting he should have been home hours ago, she threw a blanket around her shoulders as she lugged the weight of two from the bed.

She found him; posture slumped into the couch, head thrown back, a hand clasped loosely around a half empty bottle of beer that had settled between his thighs.

She swept a gentle hand down the side of his face before she tugged the bottle from his hand, setting it on the coffee table behind her.

He startled then instinctively wrapped his arms around her, urging her down to his lap.

"A bed and sleep, Cowboy, that's what you need."

Drawing her back into the couch with him, cushioning his head on her now ample softness, he mumbled, "I'm good here, thanks."

His warm breath fanned across her skin, heating her, and she allowed herself a few lingering moments to feather her fingers through his sleep-spiked hair. There weren't enough hours in a day especially when they were working opposite ends of the clock, and soon, they would be sharing their hours with another.

As if in punishment for her errant thoughts, a cell phone reverberated from somewhere between the couch cushions. She dug deep, retrieved it and pressed it to her ear with a sigh.

"Messer's phone."

"Linds, it's Stella. Is Danny around?"

She looked at him, considering he hadn't stirred at the sound of the cell phone or her subsequent jostling of him as she retrieved it; she decided not to disturb him.

"He is Stella but I'd rather not wake him if possible. It's been a long week of even longer shifts. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Well I'm at a scene and it's …unusual. I could use a second pair of eyes to back me up and everyone else is tied up."

"I'll do it. Where are you?"

"What? No, Linds, I couldn't. Absolutely not. Not only would Mac have my head for breaching protocol, but Hawkes would be lecturing me for putting undue stress on very expectant mother and I shudder to even think what Danny would do if he found out I'd allowed you to come to a very nasty crime scene carrying his first born."

"Listen Stell, I'm a grown woman capable of gauging what my body can and can't do. And today I need a bit of fresh air, and time away from the office and that big stack of files on my desk."

"I don't know …"

"C'mon on Stel, I promise I'll just eyeball the place. I'll touch nothing and process nothing." Lindsay, hearing the capitulation in Stella's sigh, reassured, "No one even has to know I was there."

* * *

It was in that moment when he crossed the threshold to lock his door for the day that he felt that familiar feeling of being The Watched. It had been years but callback was excruciating. The wave of heat – from somewhere behind him – heat that raised the faded and fading scars, then, the sweeping chill that thickened his blood, causing his fingers to fumble the key into the lock. So many years ago, and so many years of her, watching him, and he watching her so that when she flinched he would know to duck and run. And she would step into the fray to save him. And he was ashamed.

For however long those memories had been playing, there were others that were sharper, though shorter running. Memories of how he had failed not one, but many, reminded every time he looked at the fading scars, perfectly shaped but maliciously formed, reminded every time he looked at the faces, day in and day out, the faces of those whose faith he had destroyed and whose lives he had endangered.

And he knew it was true, he'd always known it was true, and he would always know it to be true: that he, Adam Ross, was, is and would always be a coward.

* * *

"Good, you're here," Stella's words were as tight as her features.

"So when you said unusual, how unusual did you mean?"

"Too unusual for us to risk bringing the remains to the morgue." Warning, Stella handed her a pristine white handkerchief. "You'll need this."

Lindsay took the handkerchief, mimicking Stella as she held it firmly over her mouth and nose. Even before she entered the room, the stench – pure and unadulterated – assaulted her senses: watering her eyes, burning her throat, horrifying her mind. She glanced –warned but still unprepared – at the sight: charred and sooted, the length of an average height; intact foot on the right, partial arm with an attached hand on the left.

She felt a ripple through her belly that ended sharply at a nerve and she squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the handkerchief tighter but still trying to breath through the pain.

"Lindsay." Stella reprimanded herself, "I knew I shouldn't have let you come."

"Stel, it's just the baby rolling and hitting a nerve." Her eyes flickered open again as she muffled the explanation through the handkerchief.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Let's take a closer look at the remains of the remains."


	2. Chapter 2

**Reckless Burning**

* * *

Let the little children wake within the cast of the flicking yellow,

Let them dance within the protection of the merry orange,

Let the teasing red lap and lure the aberrant and the deviant,

Let the stealthy white be the cure as the flame burns from the inside out,

Let the little children be safe from all harm.

* * *

Approaching the bed shoved against the wall, a twin sized mattress without frame or box springs, Lindsay's eyes darted from charred surface to charred surface, avoiding the contrasting white of the remaining appendages.

Stella began her muffled assessments, "The burn pattern is unusual … soot on the walls up to three feet high ... soot on the ceiling … but only directly above the bed … everything within a few inches, laterally of the body, scorched … the body itself completely incinerated except—"

Lindsay coughed against the fouled air supply. Stella glanced sharply at her. Pressing the handkerchief closer to her nose, she took a much needed breath then forcing herself to look again, to note the details, she reassured Stella by continuing the assessment. "Except the foot and arm … judging by the yellowing of the toenails and the browned and roughened skin of the hand, I'd say we're looking at an adult … and the hair on the arm … definitely male."

Stella nodded and continued to the head of the bed, nudging a comfortably clad but nevertheless stylish toe into a two foot high stack of The New York Times on the floor beside the bed. "But this stack of newspapers … not even one corner singed."

Since squatting was out of the question, Lindsay bent over the body as far as she dared without bracing herself against something, examining, "For the most part, the fire was localized to the body …. but to burn bone to ashes … I thought that wasn't possible."

"I'll call Mac to update him and request Sid for an onsite autopsy." Turning away from the body, Stella unclipped her phone and walked to the only window in the room, blocking the pallid light.

Lindsay straightened slowly, allowing her body time to rebalance before stepping backwards, heel knocking against metal. Looking down, reaching, she pulled a pair of gloves out of the kit, snapping them on, supple latex against her skin, long since felt, poignantly missed. Stepping closely to the sooted wall, she ran an index finger down it. It slid easily, too easily. Soot was typically more sticky than greasy. Rubbing her index finger and thumb together she marveled at this tiny scientific anomaly. What could it mean? A spark of excitement in anticipation of collecting the sample, hermiting herself within the lab, analyzing, discovering, answering–

"Lindsay, what are you doing?"

* * *

"Adam, you're 45 minutes late!"

"What?" Stopping in the hallway, blinking in the artificial light and at the deep groove across Mac's forehead, Adam chanced a quick glance at his wrist watch: 9:45. No, no that can't be right. It had been 8:15 when he left his apartment. Where had the time gone? Furiously tapping the face of his watch, realizing the lost time, realizing how long he had stood in his memories, oblivious to time.

Looking back up at Mac whose frustration and impatience was feeding the tapping of a file against his palm, he felt another familiar feeling, this one no better than the last, and that wave of heat from somewhere behind him, then the sweeping chill, gibberishing his words, "I can ex … I have …" Even if he understood it, how could he explain it?

He flinched when Mac slapped the file against his palm. "You know I'm running on a skeleton staff with Danny supervising the night shift and Lindsay confined to a desk."

Knowing he'd lost his sliver of opportunity for explanations, he only nodded.

"This will not happen again. Understand?"

"Understood."

"Grab a kit and get over to Telge and 51st. Stella's there, she'll fill you in."

"Right away, Mac … thanks."

Hoisting his backpack higher onto his shoulder, shuffling backward a couple of steps before ducking his head, turning, he collided into Hawkes and a hot cup of coffee.

"Dammit Adam, look where you're going."

Hawkes sighed as he looked down, holding out his arms, flipping drops of coffee off his hands as he alternated the cup from hand to hand. Adam reached out, swiping at the coffee colored stain on the crisp, white dress shirt. Hawkes backed out of Adam's reach, raising his hands high.

"Just stop it, stop it, you're not helping. I have to go find another shirt; I'm due in court in twenty minutes."

Hawkes turned and stalked down the hall, torpedoing the empty Styrofoam cup into a wastebasket on his way.

Staring at the rigid posture as it disappeared down the bustling hallway, the heat pressed insistently from behind. Slipping into recriminations, Hawkes, Uber Nice Guy, the sweeping chill immobilized his legs. Caught, memories rushing forward to taunt—

"Adam?"

Focusing on her voice, a velvet lifeline, but refusing to look at her face, hand over hand, out of the pit, relieved at the save, embarrassed at the exposure.

"I gotta go."

* * *

"Nothing, Stella, I'm not doing anything." Reluctantly peeling back the gloves, inside out, thrusting them deep into her jacket pocket, turning away from the wall to face Stella.

"How much longer?"

"Until?"

"Until the baby comes, how long?"

"Oh." Feeling a twinge of guilt that she hadn't realized what Stella had been referring to, her hand drifted along the half moon of life. "Couple of weeks but they say the first is the hardest to predict."

Stella gave her shoulder a brief squeeze and an even briefer smile, "Soon you'll be so busy you won't miss this in the least." Dropping her hand, Stella squatted next to her kit. "Sid will be here soon."

"I'll be on my way, then." She panned the scene—starker now that the sun had won its struggle to rise above the neighboring buildings. Fingering the latex in her pocket, she turned away.

"Thanks, Lindsay."

She fisted the latex, "Anytime, Stella."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks to all those who've read, reviewed and put this story on alerts ... the story continues.

**Reckless Burning**

* * *

She saw what he wouldn't show,

Heard what he wouldn't say,

Knew what he didn't know,

Ached with what he hadn't felt—until now.

Aware, his misery mounting,

Connecting, her power strengthening,

The fire sparked; its flame burned

In his defense—without question.

* * *

The protective mask didn't completely block the foul stench of the burnt human remains. He combated it by shifting his breathing from his nose to his mouth. Before him, ringed in numerous spotlights, Sid, enthralled, squatted next to the charred remains spread out on the mattress. Scrutinizing a charred nub, tweezed and held up to the harsh lights, Sid spoke.

"Must have been a late night, Adam."

Unbidden, but ever so familiar feelings rising in the face of an innocuous comment. "Uh ... yeah, uh … how …"

"Can't say that I blame you – arriving late for the morning shift – I have had many a late night myself." Turning the nub this way and that, obviously multitasking, he continued, "But rather enjoyable late nights if I remember correctly." Sid laid the nub carefully onto the exact spot from where he'd pinched it up and stood, a crackling knee scolding him. "Not that the boss would care to hear about it."

The surge of heat at his back came faster, with less restraint, as Sid, unclipping his glasses and reclipping them at his chest, stepped over the tangle of electrical cords, outside the ring of lights into the shadows, leaning in conspiratorially.

"The most interesting things happen late at night though, don't they?"

The chill, icicling his senses, skidded him backwards in time, mutating Sid's features from that of a harmless but slightly eccentric colleague into those of someone else, someone bent on sly insinuations meant to entrap and degrade, someone who—

"Adam, you're here. I want you to start gathering samples from this wall." Stella, stepping into the ring of lights, gestured toward the sooted wall. "I want to know how this fire started." She squatted. "Do you have time and cause of death yet, Sid?"

His conspiratorial ramblings forgotten in anticipation of a captive audience for his medical monologue, Sid stepped over the tangled cords and squatted beside her.

Thankful for the camouflage of the shadows, hoping they wouldn't notice his hesitation, he waited, waited for sensation to return to his body and equilibrium to return to his mind, waited before stepping into the revealing ring of lights.

* * *

"I just can't look at another case file." Shifting laboriously in her office chair, sighing. "I will spiral into insanity and die of boredom before I have this baby, I swear to God." Tossing the case file onto the much-too-small stack of reviewed files, her voice silenced into thoughts. _I swear to God, if I lie, poke a thousand needles in my eye._ Chagrined at the lapse into a childish rhyme, she spoke aloud again, "I knew it, I'm already slipping."

Attempting to refocus, she yanked the next file from the towering stack of yet-to-be-reviewed files and opened it. As she scanned it, the words 'torched' and 'burned' jiggled her mind, recalling the similarly gruesome crime she had witnessed in the early morning hours with Stella. Thumbing through the pictures in the file, she noted the differences: unruly burn pattern, soot blackening almost everything in the room, remains of the victim, although scorched and flesh melted away here and there, essentially intact in skeletal form.

Why such a difference?

The hands, following the ruminations of the mind, entered the search query into the computer and waited. Finally. Mind engaging, spirits lifting, hand grabbing for the phone, calling in the request for the files.

* * *

"This is a tricky case because there are so little remains. The cause of death could be due to the fire but since there are no lungs, I can't check for signs of smoke inhalation. It could be caused by blunt force trauma or strangulation, before the start of the fire, but we have no body to check for bruising or contusions."

"So what are you telling me, Sid?"

"That knowing what time the fire occurred could help narrow the field."

"At the moment I don't have that. Angell hasn't turned up anyone who saw or heard anything substantial and we won't have any results on the cause of the fire itself until Adam finishes collecting the samples and we get them back to the lab for analysis. Can you tell anything from the hand and foot?"

"At this point, they show signs of maximum lividity. But as a couple of hours ago when I first examined them, they didn't so I'd say this victim has been deceased no more than six to seven hours."

"Hopefully DNA from the hand can give me an id on this vic." Segueing into other difficulties with the investigation, Stella continued, "The other tenants in the building say they didn't know him; he'd only been in the place for a week. Super said the name the guy gave was John Smith and since he paid cash upfront – for a month – he didn't concern himself with finding out more. Did say he had an accent though, Scottish, Irish or something like that."

Sid, still caught in the medical realm. "I'm no expert but it's very unusual to have a fire so hot that it burns bones to ashes but yet is completely localized to the body."

Stella, pulled back to the curiosity of the case. "Yeah, that's what Lin—I mean." Recovering, she steered Sid towards an irresistible topic, "Is there any scientific explanation for that?"

Sid's eyes gleamed as he peered over the top of his lenses. "Coincidently there is. It's called the wick effect."

"Like a candle, right?"

"Exactly, the fat of the body acts as the fuel, the clothes as the wick, hence localized burning—from the inside out."

"From the inside out? How does a fire like that start?"

"Spontaneously"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks to notesofwimsey for her feedback on this chapter

**Reckless Burning**

* * *

She was old and he was young.

She was weak but he was strong.

Her rage was spent but his newly begun.

Through him, the flame would burn.

* * *

Stella stuck her head inside Mac's office."

"Is Hawkes still in court?"

He nodded without breaking his vigil at the window. "Have anything on the burn victim yet?"

"Not yet. I'm expecting trace results from Adam any minute and hopefully the DNA results won't be far behind."

She waited for the continued questioning or his customary dismissal of "Keep me posted", but the silence stretched. Recognizing the rare appeal, she stepped into his office and perched on the edge of his desk.

She waited; it didn't take him long.

"Ever feel like something's missing from your life?" He paused, inhaling deeply before continuing. "Like you want to fill it, but your hand has already been dealt?"

Knowing better than to clutter the moment with trifling reassurances or tepid pep talks, she slid off his desk, closed the distance between them gently palming his shoulder. Feeling the warmth through his shirt reminded her of what even she forgot about him from time to time: his humanness.

"More often than you think," she replied.

For the first time since she had entered his office, he looked at her with his lopsided smile of slightly amused doubt.

"Funny, I never thought you did." He turned back to the window, crossing his arms across his chest, closing his humanness back into himself again. "Keep me posted."

* * *

The results clutched in his hand but forgotten, he stood in the doorway watching her study a file, index finger tracking along the lines as she read, a wavy curtain of hair hiding her face but not her demeanor – peaceful, reassuring – in opposition to his present state.

What a difference from those first days in the lab, when she'd been nervous but trying not to show it, scrambling to measure up. Back then, he'd been a rookie lab tech, had felt their kinship, had even been working up the nerve to ask her out for coffee. But then Messer had staked a claim. A claim that had even held Flack at bay. Even if he could have competed with Messer, it was obvious that she'd fallen hook, line and sinker for him, in spite of the common knowledge that she'd pushed him away due to the resurfacing of her traumatic past.

And that's why he was hovering at her office door. She'd survived. She'd dealt with it. She was happy now.

How had she done it?

Raising and dropping his fist once, twice then thrice before finally rapping knuckles against wood.

Her head rising but her eyes slow to follow, finally speaking, "Adam?"

Puzzlement on her face, from what he wasn't sure and his voice faltered before he found it again. "Uh, got a minute?"

Glancing at the file once more before slowly closing it, "Sure, sure, come in."

Perching on the edge of the chair in front of her desk, he felt unbalanced, stiff. Sliding deep into it, he tried for relaxed, nonchalant, crossing ankle over knee, hoping the weight would stifle the stuttering of his leg.

Lindsay ducked her head to catch his roaming eyes, "What's on your mind?"

"I … uh … if this isn't a good time I can come back … you know, later." Sliding forward in the chair ready to bolt at the first indication that her time was too valuable to waste on him.

"No, Adam, this is a good time." A genuine smile lit her features. "I need a break."

And for the first time since late the night before, he felt relieved and hopeful, words rolling off his tongue. "I wanted to ask you—"

"Montana, how's that baby of ours?"

The unexpected intrusion squelched his flow, sent his emotions back into heightened alert.

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Sitting on my last nerve." Then followed it with a delighted smile. "But what are you doing here? Your shift doesn't start for another couple of hours."

Danny, leaning over to brush a kiss across her lips, his hand gliding proudly and possessively along the bulging firmness holding their baby.

"Really? You gotta be kidding me? I must've read the clock wrong." Thumbing back towards the door, turning to go. "I'll just head back home and catch forty winks."

"Oh no you don't." Hooking a hand through the crook of his arm, securing him, closing her eyes, inhaling. "I smell Chen Ho's."

"Your sense of smell is not impaired in the least, Detective." Brandishing a large white takeout bag from behind his back. "If you can tear yourself away from those files, we can have dinner together for a change."

"I'd love that."

Slipping away unnoticed as the heat beat at his back, desperate to find a retreat before the chill overtook him.

* * *

"Dr. Hawkes, for the record state your current employment status."

"Routine" he told himself. But another part of him whispered, "It's never routine." Internal argument compliments of being at the mercy of the threat of medical malpractice suits during a past too close to confront

He leaned into the microphone. "I'm a Crime Scene Investigator for the New York City Crime Lab.".

"Dr. Hawkes, did you perform the autopsy on Noreen Palicios?"

He looked at the defendant – a man whose eyes were alternately vacant in disbelief of the accusations being leveled against him then tortured in loss of his wife after a prolonged battle with cancer.

"Yes, I did."

"And your position and employer at that time?"

"Coroner for the New York City Crime Lab"

Easing with the familiarity of the questioning, he distanced himself from the microphone, increasing the strength of his voice to compensate.

"You left that position for your current position soon after you performed the autopsy on Noreen Palicios did you not?"

This time he looked to the plantiff – Noreen Palicious' daughter from her first marriage – her face angled in determination, a self-righteous purse of the lips as she sat rigidly next to the prosecutor's assistant.

"Yes I did."

"Dr. Hawkes, previous to the coroner's position with the Crime Lab, you were a promising surgeon with Queen of Mercy Hospital?"

"Yes, I was a surgeon, that's true."

"You abandoned your promising surgical career soon after not one, but three patients died from complications during or soon after surgeries of which you performed."

The chair screeched its disapproval as the defense attorney launched himself, palms hitting full force on the table in front of him. "Objection, Your Honor. What is the relevance of trolling through this witness's work history?"

The prosecutor turned to the judge. "Your Honor, I am establishing a pattern of negligence and incompetency in Dr. Hawkes performance on the job that will cast serious doubt on his findings during the autopsy of Noreen Palicious."

And just like that the past had come to confront him.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** The title for this fic comes from a song called Reckless Burning by Jesse Sykes and the Sweet Hereafter.

**Reckless Burning**

* * *

Twist of fate or sleight of hand,

It matters not what brought you in,

Only that I continue, through you,

The work that I was deigned to do.

* * *

Squatting against the wall, he sucked the air in through his nose and forced it out through his mouth but it didn't help. He was grateful he'd made it to the deserted and darkened service corridor. Hands drooped between his thighs; he avoided the sight of them; they'd only push him faster. Instead he focused on the concrete floor. Gray and unyielding. Very cold. And getting colder.

"Nobody's gonna save you. Get over it, Ross!"

The personal reprimand echoed sharply, taunting him tenfold and he pounded his head, twice, in quick succession, against the wall, bone against brick, the echo dull, the pain jarring. But still the chill settled; he slipped further and further…

* * *

"Oh Danny, this is perfect. I'm famished." Opening the takeout boxes as he pulled them from the bag and put them on the desk, she said, "Adam, you want to join us for Chen Ho's?"

Danny did a quick take of the room, wondering if the pregnancy hormones were causing Lindsay to have hallucinations.

"Uh, Montana, who're you talking to?"

She peered around the bag, staring at the empty chair in front of her desk.

"Adam. Didn't you see him when you came in?"

"Nah."

He occupied the chair, recently vacated by Adam and scooted it closer to the desk, grabbing a pair of chopsticks, digging enthusiastically into Chen Ho's extra spicy Kung Pao chicken.

"He was just here … wanted to ask me something." She absently picked up a pair chopsticks, adjusting them in her hand, "That's freaky."

"That's Adam." Danny rejoined through a mouth full of Kung Pao chicken.

* * *

Was it now or later? He thought he heard footsteps. He looked at his watch. "Shit." Not surprised by the occurrence but by the amount. He'd lost time again, a lot of time, only ten minutes until the shift changed.

Standing, he become aware of the file in his hand.

Fuck!

* * *

"So Montana, taking on extra work?"

She glanced at the files he held in his hand as she tossed the empty food containers back into the takeout bag. Chen Ho's had been delicious as usual and with eating for two, she was beginning to wonder if she ought to skip the walk to the subway station and hail a taxi for the ride home.

"No, just a little curious about this rather strange case that Stella caught this morning."

"Oh yeah?" Fanning through the tabs on the file folders. "These are all cold case files."

"Like I said it was an unusual case."

* * *

He found her in the AV Lab discussing the case – he assumed – with Mac and Flack but he wasn't positive because he wasn't listening, couldn't listen; he had to focus on staying present. He sidled up to the tight trio, calling as little attention to himself as possible while he waited for an opportune moment to hand off the file to Stella.

"The vic's DNA closely matched someone who was already in the database," Stella said.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hawkes join the group. Focus.

"A close relative," Mac stated, "father and son, or brothers."

"Exactly but while I have a name for the match in the database, that didn't give me a name for the vic. So remembering that the super said the vic had a Scottish or Irish accent I searched the Department of Immigration database for recent entries into the city from the UK."

Stella pulled up the passport record onscreen, Flack leaned in, reading, "Sean Gunn." Realization sharpened his tone. "Sonofabitch, the match in the database is ..."

"Colm Gunn." Mac finished heavily.

"So the guy who killed the head of the Wilder drug gang and nearly destroyed the entire lab had a close relation here in the city." Hawkes summarized.

The resulting silence confirmed everyone's suspicions and mirrored their shock.

He knew this was his opportunity as the rest of the team froze in their silence and shock at whatever discoveries had been made. He could relate to that, but all he cared about at this moment was getting rid of the file and getting the hell out of here. He shouldered through as unobtrusively as possible and dropped the file next to the keyboard.

"Results," was all he managed to say and although he had heard very little, understood even less, desired to know nothing more and definitely didn't want to discuss anything at all; he couldn't help but look – briefly. But it was enough. The face leered at him, mocked him, challenged him. The heat surged against his back and he knew now, from experience, the faster it came, the less time he had before the paralyzing chill would sweep over his body.

"Why? What the hell was he doing here?" Flack, the first to thaw, gestured violently at the screen.

"I … I … I …" Stuttering uncontrollably, struggling to verbalize it before he slipped – slipped into wherever it was he went when he wasn't here.

All eyes were on him, blue, brown, black, green and even some that he swore shouldn't have even been there. The gravity of the situation ghoulishly sagged the bags under Mac's eyes; it scared him and he had to look away while Mac questioned him.

"What do you mean, Adam? Did you know the vic?"

"No, no … he, he, he was watching me."

"When, where, how Adam?"

The rapid fire questioning stoked the heat and he knew it wouldn't be long now. Focus.

"Last night … outside my building … he, he approached me."

"And you didn't report this to me?"

It was here, sweeping after the heat, chasing it, laughing at it, prickling the tips of his fingers and toes, slowing his blood and thickening his tongue.

"Didn't, didn't, didn't know … know who he was."

"Mac, take it easy."

Stella's voice, gentle as he's ever heard it and never more thankful to hear it, slowed the slippage.

Focus.

Mac, severity easing, reminding himself that Adam was a valued member of the team, his team.

"Adam, give Flack a full statement then go home and stay there until we figure this out. Flack, have an officer to escort him home and keep watch tonight."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I realize this story has been on hiatus for more than a while but I'm back on it now. Thank you for your patience.

**Reckless Burning**

**

* * *

**

Rest baby rest

I'll take care of you.

Sleep baby sleep

I'll brave the danger for you.

Wake baby wake

I've made it safe for you.

_

* * *

_

"I don't get this." Stella flipped through the papers in the file then flipped through them again. "There is absolutely no hint of accelerants in the trace analysis that Adam ran."

"That is odd," Hawkes said. He held out his hand for the file, Stella closed it and slapped it into his palm.

"Knock yourself out."

Mac spoke carefully, "We have to consider all the possibilities to account for the absence of significant trace results."

"Any particular one you're thinking about?"

"Adam said he was threatened by our vic last night. He was forty-five minutes late to work this morning and acting very odd when he arrived."

"Odd?" Stella questioned, arching her eyebrows.

Mac shrugged. "Well, odder than usual."

Hawkes rejoined the conversation. "You're right Stella. There's nothing to indicate how this fire started."

"Mac, you're not considering Adam as a suspect? I was at the scene, I saw him collecting the samples."

"Maybe he didn't run the samples taken from the scene." Wasting no time on further contemplation Mac turned to Hawkes. "Hawkes, run the—"

"Say no more, Mac. I'm on it."

"Mac? You can't actually think …"

"Stella, it's better to rule it out than to ignore it and be caught unawares."

* * *

Flack fiddled with the radio, searching for the game, eyes flicking from dial to street repeatedly until the sportscaster's rhythmic play by play filled the rapidly chilling night air. Mind now occupied as eyes remained vigilant, he settled back. Then his cell rang.

"Flack"

"_I read Adam's statement. A bit brief wouldn't you say?"_

"Yep, I know, but he was adamant that that's how it played out, well, as adamant as he could be."

"_You mean he was acting typical for Adam?"_

"Nah, it was more than that, he was struggling to keep himself …"

"Focused?"

"Exactly."

"_Sounds like this guy got to him."_

"Yeah, but all the vic said to Adam was 'I'm watching you' then took off after giving him nothing more than a long, hard look."

"_Maybe it was the accent or the similarity in looks to Colm Gunn that's triggered this odd behavior in him. Memories are powerful instigators." _

"Makes Adam sound like a head case."

"_That's why I'm having an officer keep an eye on him tonight. By the way, who did you get?"_

"Uhm …" Flack leaned forward to catch the sportscaster's determination of the penalty call. "… yours truly."

"_Don, you already put in a full-"_

"I know, I know but there was something so …" Flack pumped a fist at the ruling for his team. "Hell Mac, when I was taking his statement, his teeth were chattering so hard I thought his head was going to bounce right off his neck and well … the game's on …"

"_Okay, okay, but if things remain quiet you call in for relief in a couple of hours and if things don't-"_

"I promise, Mac, you'll be the first to know."

* * *

"Hawkes, long time no see." Danny paused beside Hawkes seated at the computer terminal. "Did I miss the memo that said you're on the night shift now?"

"What?" Eyes still trained on the computer screen, Hawkes answered with a shake of his head. "This just can't be possible."

Danny leaned over Hawkes' shoulder, focusing on the computer screen. "What can't be possible?"

"Absence of accelerants in these trace samples taken from this burn site."

Danny rocking backed onto his heels, crossed his arms and stuffed his hands into his armpits. "It _is_ possible for things to burn without accelerants."

Hawkes shook his head again. "Yeah but … this was a very localized fire – and intense – it'd be hard to imagine it burning like that without accelerants."

"So run 'em again."

"I already have … twice."

"Maybe the samples are tainted."

"If that's the case it doesn't bode well for Adam."

"You mean Adam screwed this up?"

Feeling that tiny flame of shame at the careless accusation of incompetency, Hawkes abruptly minimized the results window, then stood and brushed passed Danny. "I gotta go back to the scene."

"Wait, you should have been out of here hours ago, let me get someone from the night shift to …"

But Danny was talking to thin air.

* * *

She bolted upright, the file spread across her lap, sliding to the floor. When had she fallen asleep? How long had she been sleeping? And what— there it was again. Her hand tunneled beneath the stack of files, retrieving the cell phone and pressing it to her ear as she tried to shift into a more comfortable position.

"Hey," she winced as a pain shot through her syatic nerve.

"No, no, I'm fine. It's just a nerve." She inched across the bed until she could swing her legs over the edge. "I must have laid on it wrong when I fell asleep." She stood carefully, allowing the nerve to release slowly. "Don't worry about it, I'm awake now."

Bracing her free hand against the wall, she toed the papers on the floor into a stack. "Yeah, that's Stella's case from this morning – the one with the burn victim." She tried scooching the stack towards the file folder. "No, I never did talk to Adam after he disappeared today." Her scooching ceased. "You're kidding me. But Adam would never-"

The baby rolled, her hand tracked the ripple across her stomach. "Maybe I should call him to see if-" A kick and another nerve twinged. "Ouch!" Her hand pressed against the nerve as her teeth gritted. "I swear to God, Messer, she gets this from you." Her breath released as the pain receded, "No, no don't worry, I'm fine but believe me you'll be the first person I'll call when the real pain begins." She laughed at his response. "Okay, okay, I promise. As soon as I hang up with you, it's off to bed I go."

Ending the call she turned towards the bed and stared at the stack of files – the cold case files – only a handful but a handful of very unusual cases. Suddenly the image of Adam – twitchy and uncertain as he had approached her this afternoon – invaded her consciousness. She dialed his number – no answer. She checked the number then dialed again – again no answer. And she knew with the next kick that sleeping would be beyond her reach until she walked, walked long and hard.


	7. Chapter 7

**Reckless Burning**

**

* * *

**

The power is the flame

With it there is no shame

Only

Revenge

Restitution

And

Rejuvenation

* * *

He'd felt it again as he'd crossed his threshold tonight – that all too familiar feeling of being _The Watched_. And if Flack hadn't been standing there beside him, reminding him that he'd be just outside, on the street, keeping an eye on things, he would have slipped again – lost into a place he could never recall once he returned. Since then, he'd exercised feelings of nothingness for that was the way, the only way to stay in control, to stay present, to stay safe.

--

The realm of explanations narrowed as answers on feelers thrown out returned – by all accounts Sean Gunn was in the country under his own reconnaissance. Whether that helped or hurt Adam remained to be seen. Never a believer in conjecture to prove innocence or guilt, he placed the call, counting on the nocturnal habits and the penchant to discuss the unusual as his ticket to more solid evidence at this late hour.

--

Hadn't he ducked under the crime scene tape a thousand times before with the only purpose to gather evidence to prove who had perpetrated the crime but with little to no thought as to _the who_ of the perpetrator? But now, now the perpetrator might be known to him, him – Adam. And if that were the case, how in the hell was he supposed to approach the job?

--

Awaking to the mirrored look of terror on her face – on his face – pure terror that the worst was about to befall him and he didn't have a friend or ally during those moments, those moments when he was being questioned. Hadn't she had those same feelings before? Long ago. A long time ago. An orphan of the world. A victim of the system. A victim of the system until she learned to close off and work the system. For the system never served the orphan; it only served the system.

--

Her feet slowed as the kicking eased then subsided. A hand at her back and the other beneath the bulge lent support and encouragement as she closed the distance – slowly and laboriously. Hearing the late night revelers long before she saw them, she used their outlandish and roaming conversation as a distraction from the tightness building beneath her hands. As the revelers overtook and jostled her in their drunken oblivion, she gradually resigned herself to resting against the wall until she realized their destination was her destination. Urging herself onward, catching the door at an awkward angle the moment before the hand width disappeared, it required two hands and strenuous effort to leverage it open again.

--

Flack hadn't missed a check in yet so the knock at the door shouldn't have startled him, but it did – each and every time. And the heat always flickered, at first, then rose in a wave when he opened the door – the heat of embarrassment and shame for having to be looked after like an irresponsible or wayward child, the heat of embarrassment and shame overriding any thoughts of extending Flack the simple courtesy of keeping watch in comfort and warmth, rather than in confinement and coldness. And as he would watched Flack retreat afterwards, it was always a split second too long and the cold surged forth, sending him careening backwards, slamming the door in the face of that feeling, the feeling of being _The Watched_.

Struggling to maintain his nothingness in the moment of recall, the knock came again and this time it was no different than before – the heat flickered then rose as he opened the door – but this time, this time it wasn't Flack standing at his threshold, it was … her. But … but it couldn't be her. As much as he might want it to be her, it couldn't her for she was … dead, dead for many years, so many years … and he'd had everything to do with her-

"I need your help."

Help? A second chance to right an unforgivable wrong. How could he? He couldn't help her then. How could he help her now?

"Adam?"

And she faded before his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, the alerts, the favorites. I'm trying to keep the updates timely but it's challenging with the holidays looming.**

**Reckless Burning**

**

* * *

**

The nearer he comes

The more she yearns

Yearns to burn

To burn for him

* * *

"Adam—" She winced and sagged against his doorframe, her arms coiling about her middle.

"Lindsay, what, what are you doing here?"

"I was wor—" Her breath hissed as her chin dropped deep into her chest, "but now I need to sit …" and she slid downwards.

Reactions faster than thoughts, he grabbed her arms before she hit the floor, heaving her towards the couch. Once there, she collapsed onto it as quickly as he backpedalled away from it.

Now what? Obviously she needed help but – his gaze dropped to his hands then flinched away from them – but who was he to help?

* * *

"I appreciate you coming all the way down here at this late hour."

"No worries and trust me …" Sid hooked his fingers through the handle – the drawer slid easily. "I understand the need to see it for yourself." Then he lifted the sheet reverently, folding it three times back onto itself.

Mac flanked the drawer on the other side, completing a sweeping glance before pronouncing his assessment. "The remains are, for all intents and purposes, incinerated except for" he pointed, "this arm" then gestured across the remains, "and that foot." His weight shifted forward as he knuckled the edge of the drawer, his head shaking in his puzzlement. "But how?"

* * *

Hawkes positioned the lights according the diagram in the case file then turned them on one by one, illuminating the charred sheets … the sooted walls … the blackened ceiling. Here to collect to the details that would contain the answers, he stepped into that revealing ring of lights, his first step toward the truth, a truth that could save or damn a colleague. His shadow loomed larger than life above the soot line but his hand – trembling – lost its monstrous shadow into the blackness of soot and char as it dropped to scrape the sample.

* * *

He always checked on her the moment he entered the apartment and in that respect, this night was no different than any other. Even the once occupied but now empty bed didn't alarm him for he often found her in the nursery at this late hour – unable to sleep – rocking and humming, hand stroking softly across the life that existed within her – although for only a few more weeks. But alarm tightened in his throat when not only the nursery was barren but the remainder of the apartment was as well. He dialed her cell – no answer – and alarm slammed into panic as he rushed around gathering clues to her whereabouts – no note, pajamas in a heap on the bathroom floor, her bag and keys missing and again no answer on the second hail to her cell. Obviously she intentionally went out but … where? And why? And how long ago? And most importantly why hadn't she returned? He wasted no time in dialing a second number.

"This is Detective Messer. I need a location on a cell phone ASAP."

* * *

"What, what, what can I do?"

"Call—" Her eyes squelched shut as her arms remained criss-crossed across her ample stomach, her hands gripping then twisting the fabric at her waist as her breath hissed, "a cab."

"Okay, okay, okay, I can do that. Just let me find my phone." His eyes wildly scanned the efficiency apartment. "Where did I put …" Movements erratic as papers, books, CDs, DVDs and other bits and pieces that constituted his life flurried to the floor. Nowhere to be found … it must be … that's it … his backpack that he carried every… shit … he must have … he couldn't be sure … but he must have left it—

Her groan brought him about face. Her eyes were as wild as he felt his own must be, she half whispered, half hissed, "Adam, you have to call a cab, NOW."

"I can't, can't, can't find, find …" His words trailed off as her head fell backed against the couch. The pain must have passed for her face relaxed and her breathing slowed. He approached her. "Do you have your cell phone?"

Her eyes remained closed and her lips barely moved as she answered, "I don't have it. I think it slipped out of my pocket when I was jostled by—" Suddenly she fell sideways across the couch her face turning into the cushion, muffling her groan, one hand mercilessly clawing at the cushion.

And he stared unable to move … to talk … or to think … only to listen, listen to the words hammering inside his head: Help her, Adam, for chrissakes help her. Her face turned toward him, eyes beyond wild, eyes from his past, a weak utterance from a voice long since heard, "Please Adam, help me, please." unleashing the taunt from another voice, a voice he never wanted to hear again, "Help her, Adam …go on, if you can … if you _dare_." The palms of his hands beat against his temples, as he shouted "No, no, no, this can't be happening." And then he was stumbling towards the door to beat it, to escape it, to give himself another chance, another chance to get help for her. Another chance to save her.

He had to save her.

His hand was on the knob, turning, the door creaking, then her scream, "For godssakes, Adam, hurry!" and the heat struck him like a heavy hand. He tugged the door open but the cold surged as quickly as the heat had struck and he fell to his knees in the hallway – into position, that helpless position that he knew so well.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Lord this story just does not want to be written!!**

**Reckless Burning**

**

* * *

**

Closer, closer, closer ...

he comes

Whatever she has left will be for him

If he'll come ...

close enough.

* * *

Down on his knees, fighting the cold, head barely lifting, eyes on the door, the door just there, across the hall from his own. If he could get to that door, knock on it and rouse the old lady who lived there … get help … surely he could do that …

* * *

Flack slapped his hands on the dashboard. "C'mon refs, ya gotta call it both ways." The radio emitted a slice of static; he hunched forward; it cleared. "Alright a steal!" He gripped the steering wheel nodding in cadence with the sportscasters play by play. "Move it down court, move it down court. We need this one." Again the static sliced through the air. "What? What?" He fine tuned the knob; the static remained. "Dammit all to hell." He looked up at the neon sign swinging in the wind half a block away: Nigel's Sports Bar. He couldn't vacate his watch … not even for the most important moment of the seventh game of the playoff series … not even for a second.

"Damn this babysitting of Adam."

* * *

Suddenly a flicker of heat and one hand went over the other … only a step before the cold filched the heat – he had crawled only a step. The door, so close, but so far – moving at a frozen snail's pace he'd never make it … he wouldn't be able … be able to help her in time …

* * *

The last sample stored safely in his kit, Hawkes peeled off the gloves. Reluctant to be careless with details that didn't seem to matter; he folded the gloves neatly and positioned them carefully next to the samples. He couldn't fathom for one micro-second that Adam was knowingly involved in this murder but the coincidence of Adam bumping into the victim hours before his death … he shook his head.

"Damn your luck, Adam"

* * *

Again … a chaser of heat … just enough for another step … just a couple more then he'd be at her door. Then he'd get help … from the old lady … rouse her … if he could get his tongue to work – the cold … it numbed his limbs … his brain. What was her name? The old lady … her name … what was it …

* * *

For the second time that day Sid's eyes gleamed in anticipation of the explanation and the ensuing discussion on such an unusual case. "It's called the wick effect and one that almost requires a leap of faith but when examined more closely one finds that it is grounded in scientific principles—"

Mac's knuckles whitened against the drawer as he leaned in closer to Sid. "The short version, Sid."

Sid's hands churned above the charred remains. "Of course. The fat of the body is the fuel, the clothes are the wick and the ignition is—"

Mac pushed back from drawer causing the remains to shift and slide. "Spontaneous combustion? Sid you can't be serious. "

"I am serious." Sid carefully shifted the remains back to their original positions. "It's a logical and reasonable explanation."

"Not one that holds water. And that's what we need—" The emotion flared as Mac's hands slapped against the drawer. "Hard, cold evidence of how this fire started, one that rules out Adam as a suspect."

Buying time in order to defuse some of the emotion, Sid pulled the sheet up over the remains then slid the drawer closed forcing Mac to retreat a step. Sid knew he'd have a more receptive audience to this theory if it weren't for Adam's involvement in this case – damn this complication. Then as quickly as the thought appeared in Sid's mind it was echoed aloud by Mac.

"Damn Adam's involvement in this case."

* * *

Another fiery hot sliver … he seized it … hand over hand for another step … only one more then he'd be at the door … the door across the hall … so close … so close to help … help … _Help her, Adam, for chrissakes help her_ ... chilling words … freezing words … frozen …

* * *

Stella sat up in bed, severely scraping riotous curls from her face bunching them into a confining mass at the back of her head. If only she could do that with her thoughts, her ruminations, her memories, her dreams, cap them and bury them. But whether in sleep or wake she thought of him – his face of terror … which was her terror … terror that would not leave her … terror that would not go back where it belonged – buried and forgotten. She catapulted out of bed, feet hitting the cold floor, bee-lining for the kitchen and once there, pulling items from cupboards to make that scalding cup of tea, that scalding cup of tea laced with a nip of something stronger, searching more cupboards – something soothing, searching the high cupboards above the fridge – something numbing, searching the utility cupboards below the sink – something that … searching the final cupboard – something that she could not find … or did not have. Then the terror rose – her terror, his terror.

"Damn Adam and his terror!"

* * *

A surge of heat, he didn't understand it but it was enough for the last hand over hand and a stumbling, stiff rise to the door … but it was draining away … too fast … arms icicling … _Help her, Adam …go on, if you can … if you dare …_

* * *

Danny hurried toward the 1200 block of Paulson – why did that sound so familiar? Familiar – yet … elusive; it wasn't like him to shadow grab at details. Then he heard it – finally – after continually hitting redial he was in range but more worry piled upon the small relief as he retrieved her phone from sidewalk and navigated to Outgoing Calls. The last two were to … to Adam? Adam! He should have realized after the conversation in their office, her concern during the nightly phone call but … but still, why she'd have to go out … at this time of night … to see Adam.

"Damn Adam and his problems!"

* * *

A bolt of heat – suffusing – arm lifting, knuckles rapping like ice cracking amidst a violent spring thaw then another and another, but the icy clutches of winter – longer entrenched – gripped, reasserted: _You dared but you didn't … You tried but you couldn't…_ Then her scream, from behind him, "Damn you Adam, help me!" horrible, piercing, but thawing, warming, blazing, chasing the cold until it scurried back to the past, leaving the present: he couldn't save _her_ – but he could save another … another mother who'd love her child as he'd been loved until … until … right in front of him she'd drawn her last breath … her last breath at the hands—

Focus Ross!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thanks to all who are hanging in there. Only two or three chapters remain!**

**Reckless Burning**

**

* * *

**

Not this time

I won't let you this time

Because you've had your time

And now, you're out of time.

* * *

Focus Ross!

In a split second he was beside her. Everything about her was rigid: eyes squelched closed, teeth clenched, jaw set, neck muscles taut then stretching as her head arced back, one hand gripping the edge of the cushion, the other the back of the couch, feet pushing desperately against the arm of the couch. And her belly – of her body but looming large above her – distended before his eyes.

Distended.

As if a living being, yearning for freedom, thrust against undue confinement.

Undue confinement.

Another living being.

Yearning.

For Freedom.

He reached out, his hand hovering – just above – her back arching suddenly, his hand colliding, a steel band tightening beneath it accompanied by her anguish moan. He flinched to remove his hand but hers clamped down on his, her eyes flew open, her tongue flicked across dry lips as she uttered words like "The cab? It's coming?" or was it, "The baby, it's coming!" In any case, his hand struggled beneath hers to free itself as his tongue tumbled over his words. "I, I, I, couldn't, couldn't find a—"

A tear, the first he'd seen since she'd arrived, slid from the corner of her eye and disappeared into the deeper echelons of her ear. "What … what … what do you mean— Oh God!" Words were lost into another anguished moan."

With his free hand he gestured behind him. "I'll run and get Flack, he's just across the—"

Ten icy fingers viced around his wrist her head rising from the couch with great effort and equal desperation. "No! You can't leave me. Not now."

"But, but, I don't, I don't, I don't know how to help you."

"You can't leave me; do you hear me Adam Ross? You can't leave me!"

Her head thudded back to the couch, her eyes fluttered closed as he felt the steel band release beneath his hand. Sensing an opportunity that he neither understood nor took the time to analyze, he tried to speak soothingly but quickly. "Lindsay?" She nodded but her eyes remained closed. "If you can walk – that is, I mean, it's only a few flights and, and Flack is just across the street," free hand gesturing weakly, "just, just, there across street. Can you try to …" words fading quickly at her non responsiveness.

Just when he was beginning to wonder if he would have to resort to plan B – whatever that was – her body rolled sideways, laboriously, her feet dropped to the floor as her fingers released his wrist and her hands braced underneath her shoulder. Grabbing her upper arms, he took up her slack and helped her upright. Bending low he wrapped her arm his neck and his other arm curled low across her back, then he hoisted her to a standing position and they shuffled to his door. As they reached the door, she sagged against him, he adjusted his hold on her then they crossed his threshold into the hall and it hit him – full in the face – the heat, the heat and that feeling of being _The Watched_.

Again.

He cursed, she didn't notice.

Why here? Why now? Why can't he be left alone? Left alone to help her? Why? Why? Why? Then he felt the cold, the cold seeping, seeping into his extremities, his grip loosening on her. She started to sway away from him.

"Adam?"

His name came out of her mouth as a frantic yelp. Focusing on the door across the hall, channeling anything of himself left within him, he shouted, "No, No, No, not this time!" and forced his fingers to regain their grip. Securing her against him, he encouraged her, "Come on, Lindsay," as they turned and started down the hall.

* * *

Glancing at the dashboard clock as the commentator wrapped up the closing seconds of the game, Flack realized he was a few minutes past his check in with Adam but … it'd been a quiet night so far— then unexpectedly cold air blasted into the car's interior, lifting the hair along the back of his neck and he wrenched himself around to see Adam installing Lindsay in the back seat.

"What the—"

"It's Lindsay."

"I can see that Adam, what's she doing here?"

"I don't know—"

"Stop talking about like I'm not here!" Lindsay muttered with frank determination but then added with obvious effort. "And get me to the hospital before I have this baby in your car."

"Alright, alright." Flack started the engine and Adam began to disengage himself from Lindsay but she clutched at his arms. "Where are you going?"

"Back, back upstairs. Flack's got you covered from here."

"No Adam, he's driving. I need someone in the back with me." She released one of his arms – but only one – and coiled her arm about her middle as she doubled over with a moan.

"Adam, I can no more leave you here than I can her so get your ass in the car, now!" Flack had no sooner finished his declaration than Adam had slid into the seat beside Lindsay, slamming the door to the tune of revving engine and squealing tires.

He heard Flack ask Lindsay which hospital they should go to, then Flack's phone call to the hospital alerting them of their arrival. Then another phone call to … to who he wasn't sure because Lindsay had clamped his hand across her belly again, and he began to anticipate her moans every time he felt that steel band tighten – then Flack's closing comments on the call, "We'll meet you there." caused him to struggle to free himself once again but she held fast. And he sweated but rallied when the steel band loosened; her breathing relaxed and her eyes softened as her head lolled towards him. Then they were there and Danny was at her side as she was whisked away in the waiting wheelchair.

And then he felt as alone and bereft as on that day that _she_ had died.

* * *

He wasn't sure how he'd arrived at the hospital waiting room in fact wasn't even aware that that's where he was until she'd called his name – likely several times judging by the look on her face when he finally looked up at her. Her hand dropped to his shoulder in some sort of understanding – he felt – then she took the seat beside him.

"It's been a night and a half for you, hasn't it?"

And he couldn't have spoken even if he had known what to say for that tiniest bit of concern for him … Him! It swelled the lump in his throat to an unspeakable size that forced tears into his eyes. She clutched his hand between both of hers. "Why don't you tell me about it?" And her eyes didn't leave his face but he couldn't face the exposure, the guilt, the shame so he looked away at the wall, up at the ceiling then down again to the empty row of chairs and finally to the Norman Rockwell prints above them – those classic prints bespeaking idyllic family life – and he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I couldn't save her, Stella."

"Who, Adam?"

"My mom."

"What happened?"

"He killed her and it was entirely my fault. If, if, if, I hadn't provoked him, she wouldn't have intervened and, and, and—" He scrubbed his free fist into one eye then the other. "It was entirely my fault."

"How old were you?"

"Old enough"

"Adam, how old?"

"Eight"

"Hardly old enough to protect yourself against a grown man."

"But I knew the game. We'd played it for years. He'd watch me, and, and, and she'd watch him, and I'd watch her cause we never knew what'd set him off only that," a shuddering sigh ran through him and her hands tightened around his, "only, only, only that she'd detect it a split second before me that's how I'd know to duck and run then she would try to distract him until he calmed down but, but, but that day … that day—" His head drooped and his shoulders began to undulated in grief.

And then her arms encircled him and held him as _she_ would have done.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Wohoo! I've updated in a timely fashion. One more chapter left after this -- at least I think I can get the wrapup all in one chapter. Thanks for continuing to read.**

**Reckless Burning**

**

* * *

**

The bird in free flight

Does not alight

On a branch

That does not invite.

* * *

They were cognizant of nothing beyond the bundle cradled within her arms – freshly scrubbed pink skin, fingers and toes counted ten and ten again and yet again. One of his arms curled beneath hers cradling the bundle, the other rested on the pillow beside her head, his hand brushing across her cheek as he whispered, "You did it, Montana. She's here, she's perfect and she's beautiful."

Her eyes never left their baby as she nodded in agreement, returning the whisper, "She is perfect and she is beautiful." Then her eyes met his briefly but radiantly. "But _we_ did it, Danny."

He leaned in closer. "Yeah I had the easy part, but you," he curled his fingers into hers, "but you … you … what you did, what you had to go through, I don't ever wanna see you in pain like that again."

"It was worth it," she continued in hushed tones, but their baby stirred, she swayed her arms almost imperceptibly and their baby settled.

* * *

"It's baffling, I admit Mac, but I gathered new samples and ran those several times in addition to rerunning the ones Adam gathered. Plain and simple there is no trace of accelerants. This fire seems to have started on its own of natural causes."

Mac shut the folder, tapping the corner of it on his desk, "Or if Sid is to be believed," his eyes following his voice to some place distant and nebulous, "some _unbelievably_ natural causes."

"What's Sid's theory?"

"What?" Mac's eyes coalesced into reality, his shoulders imperceptibly shrugged, "Oh it's nothing – just Sid talking; you know how he likes to do that."

"Idle talk or no, with Adam's possible involvement we owe it to him to investigate every possibility regardless of how far fetched it might be— I mean it could be lead us in a direction we haven't considered and clear Adam beyond a shadow of a doubt."

Mac dropped the file to the desk. "I understand where you're coming from Sheldon and trust me, I'm not going to give up on clearing Adam but at the moment I think you'd be more helpful on that triple homicide that the night shift pulled in."

Hawkes' face stitched in disbelief and even a flare of resentment. "But—"

"I need you on that triple homicide," Mac reiterated as he caught sight of Stella entering the room behind Hawkes, her face holding something, something she seemed to want to say, something meant for him alone. Mac gave a Hawkes a nod of dismissal and Hawkes turned with reluctance and then surprise to see Stella behind him. She avoided a near collision with a quick sidestep, returning his terse greeting as he exited the room.

"What's on your mind, Stella?"

She deepened her presence into the room as Mac rounded his desk, placing the file folder on top of the stack of files in a box marked 'In Progress'.

"I'm wondering what's on _your_ mind, Mac."

He hands straightened the stack as he spoke. "Too much. Night shift pulled in what is shaping up to be a convoluted triple homicide. I'm short staffed again with both Danny and Lindsay out. And frankly I'm stumped on where to go with this case involving Adam."

"Allegedly involving Adam."

His glance was immediate, sharp. "So far. But do I ignore the fact that the victim sought out Adam the night he was murdered and that that encounter sent Adam into a tailspin?"

"Mac, what was it that you said to Flack?"

Mac shook his head at the broadness of the question.

"Explaining Adam's reaction to the encounter."

"Memory's a powerful instigator?"

"Exactly."

"But that just strengthens his motive."

"Or it gives him justification."

"For murdering a man that merely said, 'I'll be watching you.'? Even if he recognized the victim's similarity in accent and looks to Sean Gunn, that doesn't justify murder. Those criminals were dealt with and the hostages including Adam went through extensive debriefing and counseling."

"Maybe this has nothing to do with the hostage situation with the Wilder gang."

"What does it have to do with?"

He turned as she walked past him to face the floor to ceiling windows which were tossing the morning light around the room. Her eyes squinted against the intensity of the light, her voice monotoned in recall of things better left in the hellish shadows of the past. "Do you think that I was justified in killing Frankie?"

He stepped up next to her trying to discern her reason for asking the question, but unable to find it, he replied with his gut feeling, "Stella the man physically brutalized and mentally tortured you and I have no doubt that he wouldn't have ceased until he had killed you!"

She met neither his look nor his emotion as she continued, "And what about Claire's murderers? If given half a chance at those responsible would you—"

"Stella, it's not—" Her eyes, swimming in a turbulent sea, met his only long enough to silence his protest before she was squinting once again against the intense morning light. And then he was squinting into the morning light with her as he murmured, "I pray for the chance."

There was a moment of silent contemplation before she spoke again. "Maybe Adam – like you, like me – was dealt a hand that at times seemed almost impossible to bear."

"What are you trying to say Stella?"

"That on the slim possibility that Adam is involved in this case that you remember that."

He turned to her again, his eyes relaxing out of the scope of the intense morning light, "I will, Stella."

In a rare gesture, her hands swiped across her cheeks. "Thanks, Mac." Then she turned, calling over her shoulder as she exited the room, "I'll get started on the triple homicide."

* * *

Adam forced himself to come to a standstill instead of feigning hearing loss and ducking into the nearest lab. Just one week back in the lab – and damn it had been a good week – but now, with that shout of, "Hey Adam, wait up," the second week was starting out on a wobble.

"Adam, I wanted you to be the first to have one."

"A cigar?"

"Yeah, you know as in I'm a father and all now."

Adam read the label, "It's a girl," as he rolled the cigar between his fingers then compulsively added, "Lindsay and the baby are doing okay?" The cigar started to crank back and forth between his fingers as a look passed over Danny's face.

"They're fine, they're fine … the baby was little small but she's healthy."

"Uh … good, that's good, really good, you know for …" His free-flow of babble failed him and the silence fell between them so he waved the cigar in the direction of the lab. "I gotta get into the lab."

"Adam"

"What?"

"Thanks, you know, for how you looked after Lindsay that night. She's— I mean, we're—" Danny let go of the breath that had seemed to bugle and redden his eyes. "I'm thankful and grateful that you were there for her."

"Sure, sure, no problem."

Then as Danny hailed another coworker and retreated down the hall, Adam stood and watched, clenching the tip of the cigar between his teeth which were beginning to showing in a tentative but self-satisfied grin.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This is it, finally. Thanks for coming along for the ride.**

**Reckless Burning**

****

* * *

Would you believe me

If I told you how?

Told you how

I protected you.

**

* * *

**Trade you, Montana." Danny held out the file-sized envelope and crooked his other arm in anticipation of receiving the swaddled bundle in Lindsay's arms. Lindsay frowned and eyed the envelope suspiciously. "I don't know if I want to trade. What is it?" Danny stepped closer to Lindsay, "Don't know. It came for you at work yesterday through interoffice mail." She carefully laid their sleeping daughter in his arms and took the envelope from him. "Yesterday? They must be anticipating my return from maternity leave," she said as she pulled the contents from the envelope and began examining them.

Danny swayed and cooed, "Goodnight baby girl. Sleep through the night for your mama, okay? She's got a big day ahead of her tomorrow." He dropped a kiss to the baby's forehead. "You want me to lay her down, Linds?"

"What?" Lindsay replied absently then with a note of realization, "Oh could you? Thanks," and returned her focus to the contents of the envelope.

He returned from the nursery empty-handed, wrapping his arms around her from behind, "I gotta get to work," nuzzling into her neck, "but I'd rather stay here with you."

She turned in his arms. "Do you know what this is?"

He brushed his lips across hers, "Not a clue," then released her.

She followed him to the door. "It's a cold case file of that burn victim – the case that Adam's allegedly involved in."

He attached his badge and phone then slipped his keys into his pocket. "I guess Adam's off the hook then."

"You don't think he could have actually done it?"

"Well according to what I've heard about that case, no one could have done it." He opened the door, pausing for one last kiss then said, "Be sure and lock up after me," and closed the door firmly behind him.

She stared at the door, "It was a really unusual case …" then mechanically turned the locks, "very few cases like it …" and turned towards the bedroom, "where did I put those files?"

* * *

Pencil clamped tightly between her teeth, hands sifting through files strewn generously across the bed – so close, so close to a clue, she knew it, if she could just isolate it. Of the twenty odd files there were three where the victim died under the same circumstances as the victim in Adam's case – intense, localized fire incinerating all remains except the occasional hand or foot; no traces of accelerants found. But … a sudden and insistent squall erupted from the nursery; she flung her pencil to the bed as she scrambled off it. "No, no, no, not now."

* * *

"Shhh…shhh," she placated the squalling infant now ensconced in the sling strapped across her front. "If you won't take a bottle or settle in the rocker we'll walk the city like we did when you were in the womb."

Several blocks later the night noises from the city persisted but all was quiet from within the sling. She sighed in relief and slowed her pace but then quickened it again to catch the 'Walk' signal when she realized where she was. She slipped into the apartment building half a block down and scanned the names across the mailboxes: 'Voss', 'Techler', 'Ross'. She pressed the buzzer for 'Ross' and waited. It wasn't too late to drop in on him she reassured herself. When there was no answer, she pressed again. Upon no response she muttered to no one in particular as she exited the building, "Okay, what was I thinking? He's a young, single guy with a life," and headed the direction from which she had come.

* * *

Back in the apartment, the baby now in a deep slumber in her crib, with every intention of folding herself into bed, she stowed the pencil behind her ear, stacked the files, carried them into the living room and set them on the desk beside her laptop. Whatever clue had been titillating her synapses earlier had now chilled; she grimaced at the irony. Cold cases full of unfortunate victims and unfortunate survivors – the loved ones left behind, never knowing. Her hand strayed to the top file, then to the pencil tucked behind her ear.

* * *

"Montana, what are you still doing up?" He checked the watch at his wrist as he closed the door. "It's only six hours until your shift starts."

"I know, I know but … I can't seem to let go of this cold case involving Adam."

"Linds, if you're all hot to work," he detached his badge and phone, dropping them onto the desk beside the files, "there are more than enough open cases at the lab to keep you occupied."

She eased the chair around to face him. "Doesn't it seem more than coincidence that there are three other cold case files where the victim died under the exact same circumstances?"

"Not if you considering a serial killer."

"Do you think a serial killer would be active over a period of seventy years?" She picked up a file, gesturing for him to take it. "This victim is Father Thomas Wilson who was being investigated by the archdiocese for inappropriate behavior with altar boys."

He took the file, punctuating the air with it. "I never trusted those Fathers."

She laid another file atop the one in his hands. "And that one is David Malicki, Jr., principal of Greenwood Primary." He opened it, rifling through the sheets as she continued. "He had a complaint filed against him accusing him of using harsh physical punishment on students." She held out the third file to him. "This one, investigated almost seventy years ago has scant details. The victim, Bernard Symanksi—"

He held up a hand. "Symanski? As in S- y- m- a—"

"n- s- k- i-? What is it?"

"A witness statement by an Irinia Symanski."

She stood up beside him, shoulders touching. "I didn't see that."

"It was buried at the end of the file – like maybe they'd taken her statement on later visits to the school and overlooked it after that." His finger pointed to the page, she read quickly then flipped open the file in her hand.

"Okay here. Bernard Symanski. Survived by his wife Felicia, a son Jacek and a daughter, Irinia."

"Statements?"

"Only from the wife. Nothing from either of the children even though there is a note to interview Jacek who was in the hospital at the time healing from a fall down the stairs."

"A fall down the stairs, huh? How old was the boy?"

"Uhm … eight."

"That'd send up a red flag in this day and time."

"Certainly would." She snapped her fingers. "Give me the file on the Father." She thumbed through the pages quickly, parroting off surnames. "No Symanskis."

"Check first names."

She flipped the pages back, scanning quickly. "There's an Irinia."

"Possibly married?"

She didn't answer but returned to the laptop, fingers rapidly clicking keys. She turned the laptop toward him.

"Irinia Magdalena Symanski married Clarence William Techler, May 1959," he said then beat out his own staccato on the laptop.

Lindsay tapped the pencil against her forehead. "Techler, Techler, Techler. I know I've heard that name somewhere before."

"Linds, you're never gonna believe—"

"The mailboxes in Adam's building—"

"1222 Paulson?"

"Yeah, that's it. I saw the name Techler—"

"Apartment 3D—"

"That's directly across the hall from Adam."

Danny straightened from the laptop, hands gesturing at the files. "Are you telling me that an eighty year old woman is a serial killer?"

"I don't … really know … things seem to be pointing that direction, don't they?" She looked at him expectantly.

"It still doesn't explain how those fires started."

"Or how they burned to an intensity to incinerate a body." She began closing and stacking files. "Maybe I should pay Irinia Techler a visit tomorrow."

"Not possible." He turned the laptop back toward her.

She stared at the screen, "She passed away of natural causes, oh god …" then stared at him.

"Yeah," he whispered, "the night Zoe was born."

A wail erupted from the nursery. Lindsay turned toward the nursery. "Maybe it isn't that important, after all."

Danny followed her. "Yeah, yeah, I think we've got our hands full here."


End file.
